Space 1999 #10 - Phoenix Of Megaron

by John Rankine

  Some powerful instinct of caution cleared her head. Arm hooked round his neck, she hauled herself up to take a good look at the Alphan. Brown eyes stared into blue ones. Carter could see that he had been wrong in supposing that her eyes were one colour overall. There were small chips of paler gold in the mix. They were as remarkable as anything he had seen on the Moon’s odyssey. Like the Egyptian symbol for a million, he was an astonished man. For her part, the girl sighed deeply and relaxed. It was a vote of confidence that touched his heart.

  Helena said, ‘You can’t stand there holding her forever, Alan. Put her down and I’ll have a look.’

  Carter went forward into the cell and lowered her gently to the stone slab. He zipped off his tunic top and manoeuvred it underneath and round her. He was still in a state of visual shock and Helena had to move him aside. ‘It’s a girl. Anybody would think you’d never seen one.’

  An honest man, he said, ‘I’ve never seen one with eyes like this one. She must be one of their own people. What’s she doing down here?’

  ‘Go away and give me a chance to find out.’

  In her own medicentre, Helena Russell would have had it sorted out in the minutes it would take to fix a couple of sensors. Working from first principles, with no medical gear, it took longer and it was not easy to be definite. When she joined the others, she said, ‘As far as I can tell, there’s nothing much wrong. I’d say she’s suffered a lot of pain. But what’s causing this swoon bit has more to do with food. I’d say she’s not been eating or drinking for a few days. She needs water at least or she’ll be getting properly dehydrated.’

  Carter had gone to stand by the sick bed and was on hand for a second go of communication. The eyes opened slowly, focussed on his chest and then looked at the stand-up collar of his tunic, which was nearer home. Putting two and two together with quick data analysis, the girl said, ‘You are being kind to me. Who are you?’

  ‘Carter, Alan Carter. It’s a long story. We came from space, trying to make contact with your people. They would not listen.’

  ‘I am Rhoda. They are not my people. At least, they are and they are not.’

  The others had crowded in to hear what was being said. Helena knelt down. ‘Why are they starving you?’

  ‘They are not. It is I who will not eat their food. We know there is a drug added to the food or the water. We do not know which, so I will take neither.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Why? . . .’ Rhoda was having to make an effort to concentrate. ‘Why? . . . It would make me like them. I would not be able to resist the orders from Spadec. They beat me, but I would not eat. They can kill me, but I will not eat.’

  Koenig said, ‘We have seen the word Spadec on the cars and on the guards’ armbands. Now you are using it. What does it mean?’

  ‘It is a long story, as Alan says, but it stands for Social, Political and Defence Executive Committee. That is the body which governs the city; but we believe it should now signify something different . . .’

  Eyes closed again. Long black lashes lay in even arcs on smooth skin. Carter said, ‘We shouldn’t push her. She’s had a bad time.’

  Rhoda was in a highly sensitive state, having been needled by pain and hunger and apprehension about whether she had finally gotten to the end of her personal saga. Added to the forces swilling about, which were conducive to ESP, it made her aware of what was going on in Carter’s head. Noblesse oblige. Such stunned approval deserved encouragement. She opened her eyes again, looked directly at him and managed a luminous smile, which was a kind of holding operation. Carter got a message as if on the Eagle Command net. ‘I read you, Captain. Sitrep unfavourable for immediate response. Your attitude appreciated. I hope there will be an opportunity for depth investigation. Reluctantly, out . . .’

  She was away again and he was left to debate whether or not he had invented it all for himself or whether indeed there had been any participation by Rhoda.

  They had been so involved with this first rational contact with a Megaronian that the elevator cage hit its stop at the bottom of the shaft before anyone had noticed that it was even on the way. A harsh, familiar voice said, ‘Earthmen—if what you claim is true. Here is food. Tomorrow, you will be interrogated by the council.’

  It was Mestor in person, sharing the cage with two guards and a food trolley stacked with platters and covered dishes. Koenig’s quick assessment of the odds was noticed. Mestor pointed to the roof. Where the elevator trunk pierced the floor above, there was a gantry, clewed to the rock wall. On it, a couple of guards were leaned over the handrail, watching the scene below. If prisoners attacked the warders, there was a back-up force that could not be reached.

  Mestor said, ‘Relax, Commander. You are not going anywhere or doing anything which does not have our approval. You might as well cooperate with me, so that I can arrive at the truth. Your story of a wandering moon will not do. Bring out that fool girl, Nergal. These new guests will see how we treat those who are obstinate.’

  Carter had remained inside the cell, leaning on the wall and watching the slow rise and fall of his jacket as Rhoda breathed in and out. Nergal brushed past him and leaned over the cot. He had slapped left and right to get a little attention from the sleeper, before the Alphan fully realised what was going on. Rhoda’s small cry, as she was jerked back into the here and now, dropped his relays and moved him into action.

  Rhoda saw Nergal’s face directly overhead, then it was plucked away. Carter had him by the collar of his tunic and his crotch and swung him in an arc that thumped his head into the rear wall. Black night filled Nergal’s eyes and he had no further interest as Carter continued the turn and pitched him out through the open door.

  It highlighted a weakness in the security system. A guard on the high gantry loosed off a shot and a glowing energy ball cracked into the stone lintel, five centimetres from Carter’s head.

  Thoroughly roused, Rhoda was sitting up with red marks on her skin where Nergal had struck. She said, ‘You shouldn’t have done that. They can’t do much more to me, but now they’ll start on you.’

  ‘What do they want you to tell them?’

  ‘Nothing that they don’t already know or couldn’t nearly guess.’

  A further volley sounded from outside. Koenig, Bergman and Helena were on the far side of the circle. The cage was halfway down on a second trip with reinforcements. The men above were making it clear that if the Alphans moved from where they were, they would be shot.

  Carter was still seeking information. ‘But if there’s no secret about all this, why get yourself beaten? Are you just plain obstinate?’

  Rhoda said in her husky, vibrant voice, that carried absolute conviction, ‘It’s a matter of principle. They have no right to treat me like this. If I give in, they’ll think everybody is like them. It isn’t true. There are still real people in the world.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The Outfarers. We reject this artificial way of life.’

  Mestor had got his troops lined up. He said nastily, ‘Come out of there, Earthman, or both you and that pig of a girl will die.’

  There was a pause to a count of three and he went on with an uncanny interpretation of what had been going on in Carter’s head. ‘There is nothing more you can do. You are right, you were too hasty. You should have taken Nergal’s gun. But even then, it would only have postponed the inevitable.’

  Carter stroked Rhoda’s hair, gave the top of her head a pat and walked steadily for the door. A guard fell in on either side and Mestor said, ‘Tie him to the post.’

  It took a little time. Carter judged rightly that nobody had a clear enough view to be sure of hitting him. He had the satisfaction of sending another guard to join Nergal in his cloud of unknowing, before he was hauled by main force to the post and clipped on by ankles and wrists.

  Mestor had produced a metre-long, flexible rod and made it whistle in the air. Following a hunch, or using ESP, he had judged that Koenig and Bergman wou
ld be more concerned with the woman’s safety than their own. He had one guard aiming at point-blank range for Helena’s head. He said, ‘I have no interest in whether she lives or dies, but she will surely die if you interfere.’

  The rod cracked explosively into Carter’s chest to make a period.

  Koenig said bitterly, ‘You are proving that you are barbarians on this planet of Megaron. Where is the civilisation that built the cities we have seen?’

  Mestor picked his spot and struck again. He said, ‘You are speaking of the land of Hyria, and their vaunted civilisation came near to destroying life forever on Megaron. The ultimate civilisation is here in Caster, where all the people are satisfied with the life they have.’

  He was about to strike again, when Rhoda’s voice spoke from the cell door. ‘That is a lie, Mestor, and you know it. The people have no will of their own to know whether they are satisfied or not. I will make a bargain with you. Do not punish the stranger and I will answer some of your questions.’

  Carter had beads of sweat standing on his forehead and there was a trickle of blood on his chin from a convulsive bite at his lower lip. Keeping his voice level, he said, ‘Don’t sell out on my account, Rhoda. We all have principles.’

  Mestor considered the rod and seemed to be waiting for the decision to come from elsewhere. Finally, he said, ‘Very well. There is all the time in the world. None of you are going anywhere. Tomorrow you will be questioned directly by the Council. Keep to your bargain and your punishment may be no more than a year in the rehabilitation centre. I will leave you to think about it. This madman can stay where he is.’

  Mestor and his guards made an orderly withdrawal, taking no chances.

  Rhoda, kept on her feet by her new interest, walked slowly across to the victim in the pillory and leaned on him with her hands on his shoulders. Failing medicare, it was as soft and healing a pad as anybody could have put on the spot.

  Helena Russell, finding her occupation gone, turned her attention to the food trolley. There was fruit, a container of some cereal product that could be an oat porridge, a tall stoppered jug, full of a rose-pink liquid, and some round, brown biscuits like teething rusks. Koenig asked, ‘What about it, Helena? Can you make any judgement? Rhoda seems quite sure they put in an additive.’

  ‘I’d need lab facilities to be sure. We could take a chance on probabilities. It would be easiest to fix the drink. Least easy to fix the fruit.’

  Bergman said, ‘In the situation we find ourselves, we have to ask whether it matters. As far as I can see, we have nothing to conceal. The drug, if it exists, seems to be designed to make the mind more open to suggestion. It’s probably cumulative. Taken over a decade, it might leave you mindless as a brush. But in the short term, you have to weigh it against going without food. For that matter, fasting is hallucinatory. There’s not much difference in mental condition between a fasting saint and some self-indulgent yobo on a trip.’

  Koenig said, ‘You can’t believe that, Victor. There’s all the difference in the world.’

  ‘There’s a difference in what they make of it, but some of the electrochemical changes in the brain are very similar.’

  Carter said, ‘I’ll settle for a drink and take my chance on having a bad trip.’

  Koenig looked at his time disk. He said, ‘Paul will be making a last call.’

  It was true, within a second. Even as he finished speaking, Paul Morrow’s voice was going out from the leading Eagle. ‘Eagle Fleet Command calling Eagle Seven. Do you read me? Come in, Eagle Seven.’

  There was no answer. The passenger module of the Eagle had been set up as executive command post for the mission. He looked at Sandra and at Kano. There was no comfort and no getting around the decision already on the file. He said, heavily, ‘That’s it, then. We abort the mission. Get the signal out, Sandra. It’s a straight run to Moonbase Alpha.’

  ‘What about the commander?’

  ‘There’s been nothing from Eagle Seven since they went close in. They would signal if they could, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘So you believe they are dead?’

  ‘I believe they are unable to signal.’

  ‘So they could be alive and we are proposing to leave them?’

  ‘An Eagle could not reach the planet, search for them, find them and still get back to Moonbase Alpha, because of the unique trajectory the Moon has taken in this case.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘But you want to make it clear for the record that you don’t like any part of it?’

  Sandra Benes could not see through the direct-vision port. Her eyes were full of tears, which she made no effort to wipe away. But her voice was rock steady as she called, ‘Eagle Fleet Command to all Eagles. There is no signal from Eagle Seven. It has to be assumed that the ship is lost. Operation Exodus is cancelled. The Eagle Fleet will return to Moonbase Alpha. Stand by for course data . . .’

  The silvery Eagles, strung like a bead chain over the star map, swung in an arc behind the Eagle leader. There was no one on Megaron with the skill or interest to watch them go. Time was, when interceptor craft from Hyria would have been out already to check on the visitors, but no longer. The great cities were dead. Here and there, smaller enclaves like Caster had picked up the guttering torch and were looking about them. But, for the most part, there was nothing spare to go for outreach. They were content to snap up the unconsidered trifles of the golden ages and keep their eyes down.

  Skies darkened over the city. Lights brightened in the streets. Carter fidgeted in his pillory. Rhoda lay on his coat, close to his feet. Helena Russell raised her head from Koenig’s arm and listened in the semidarkness. It was not easy to identify, but there was a thump and a scrabble and a vibration. If it had any point of origin, it seemed to be coming from under the floor.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Koenig swung himself out of the narrow bunk and padded to the opening of the cell. There was one small ceiling port still lit, close to the observation gantry. The lumen count at floor level was low enough to take out colour and leave the set in shades of grey. Carter lifted his head. He had found the pillory a shrewd device for making a man think of personal priorities. There was no real sleep to be had. He reckoned anyone held in it for a week would be all set to sign a paper giving his freehold to the establishment. There had been no way to beat the snap locks. He was stuck with his post of honour until the morning.

  Koenig said sympathetically, ‘How does it go?’

  ‘I’ll live.’

  ‘Did you hear anything?’

  ‘Like what, for instance?’

  ‘Helena thought there was something going on below decks.’

  Rhoda stirred and sat up, a pale alabaster figure in the dim light. ‘What is it? Are you all right, Alan? I am so sorry you are there. Is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘You can be quiet and listen.’

  ‘What am I supposed to be listening for?’

  ‘Nobody knows until we hear it.’

  ‘I will try.’

  ‘Do that.’

  ‘I am doing it now.’

  If he had been free to do it, Carter would have thumped his forehead with the flat of his hand. What Rhoda would be like when full of sap and vigour was a question to ponder on. Even in her reduced state, she gave off zeal like some dynamo.

  The noise was repeated and sounded nearer. Koenig flattened his ear to the deck and the detail was easier to sort out. Some kind of digging device was being used. A shaft was being driven upwards towards the floor they were on.

  Rhoda copied the technique. She had allowed herself to be persuaded to eat a piece of fruit and drink a few cc.’s of the pink liquor. She was still feeling frail and in a highly suggestible state, but covered more ground than Koenig like an eager rabbit. It was she who stopped with an emotional quiver and said, ‘Here it is. Just underneath here. I can hear it.’

  Koenig joined her. She was right. From this angle, there was the click and scrape of to
ols working close to the surface.

  Helena Russell had been busy waking Bergman. Both joined the party. She reckoned she came in the nick of time, or Koenig would have been giving Rhoda’s eloquent seat a congratulatory pat. Rhoda sat back on her heels in a taut, unself-conscious pose that made Carter rattle his chains for a little attention.

  ‘So you found it? What do you have, for God’s sake?’

  Rhoda straightened too quickly and was reeling from sudden vertigo as she crossed the floor to tell him. Supporting herself with one hand on his chest and using the other for dramatic gestures, she said, ‘It will be my friends. My uncle, Karl, is elected leader of the Outfarers for this year. I know he will have been thinking very hard about how to release me. They have tunnelled under the city.’

  Bergman said, ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Oh, four, perhaps five days.’

  ‘How far away is the Outfarers’ camp?’

  ‘Perhaps thirty kilometres.’

  ‘Nobody can dig that sort of tunnel in four days.’

  ‘That is true.’ She turned confidentially to Alan Carter. ‘That old brainy-looking friend of yours is right, Alan. How do you explain it?’

  There was no time to work on it. Koenig grabbed for Helena and threw her clear as a ragged hole opened at her feet and a small cloud of grey dust ballooned around them. There was a pause, a definitive thump, as a last loose hunk of rubble broke away and dropped down the shaft and then a longer silence. Helena thought soberly that if the tunnellers were anywhere near as impulsive as Rhoda, they would be lying shattered underneath the rockfall.

  The dust thinned and settled and the head of a ladder was revealed poking a handsbreadth over floor level. All except Carter were standing round it in a ring to see the dome of a miner’s helmet appear, followed by broad, powerful shoulders and a fist holding a heavy machine pistol.